


Revitalizing a Dead Genre

by WhoSaysWhom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Emotional Constipation, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Pining harder than a Christmas tree, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Strength Kink, Violence, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Zombies, tis the season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoSaysWhom/pseuds/WhoSaysWhom
Summary: "Crowley shivered at a breeze that blew in from within the dense forest that surrounded them as they walked. He turned to look past the thick trees growing close together, but he knew it was hopeless to see anything past the first few feet, even in the light of the late afternoon. He hated it when they had to be close to the woods. You never knew what could be in them until it was too late. Plus it’s also cold as hell."Crowley, Aziraphale, and The Them work to survive during the zombie apocalypse, which happens to be more difficult than you think. When fighting a horde of zombies (customary) Crowley gets badly hurt, and who better than Aziraphale to save him?So! I’m thinking about making this a series, but we’ll see what hippity happens. Check back in a few weeks, maybe I’ll have the first chapter up by then.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Revitalizing a Dead Genre

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious fan fic! It’s very exciting. I’ve been part of the Good Omens fandom for a while, but I’ve never had the energy to write a fic until now. Muwhahaahaha. Like I said, I’m thinking about writing out a whole series for this. I probably will, so keep an eye out for that. 
> 
> Read the tags, there is some gratuitous gore (haha alliteration station) here. Blood, bones, rotting flesh, the works. If you’re squeamish, don’t read. Just be wary. Thanks for being here. Stay safe out there, dueces.

“No, no! It was the pirate _without_ the hat that impaled Grimlock. The one who was flirting with the bartender!” Adam was vehemently retelling his version of the story The Them was trying to recount together, waving his hands around in a very Crowley-like manner.

Crowley himself grinned at the display. “Hate to be a party pooper, but quiet down, you lot.” The kids instantly turned down their passionate voices, their acquiescence a relief to Crowley who, in the past, was used to bargaining to get The Them to quiet down. These days, however, even the kids knew they couldn't afford to be too loud.

Crowley shivered at a breeze that blew in from within the dense forest that surrounded them as they walked. He turned to look past the thick trees growing close together, but he knew it was hopeless to see anything past the first few feet, even in the light of the late afternoon. He hated it when they had to be close to the woods. You never knew what could be in them until it was too late. _Plus it’s also cold as hell._

His eyes drifted to the old paved road he walked on, expertly managing not to step on any acorns or dry leaves, a game he used to play with himself Before. Apparently kids these days weren’t into the same things, as Adam, Brian, and Pepper held no such qualms with occasionally stepping on the self indulgent dead leaf. Wensleydale, quiet in every sense, was the exception, choosing instead to listen to his friends as they continued to work on their story.

Crowley grinned to himself as he looked up to watch his kids laugh and joke. It was only in these moments where they hadn’t seen a zombie for some time when the group relaxed enough to smile and laugh and have fun. Otherwise, they were all vigilant, anxious and keyed to every possible sound that could mean an approaching zombie. Pushing a few strands of dirty red hair out his face, Crowley sighed. The group had been here before. Usually they made it a point not to return to any place they had been, but it couldn’t have been helped. Aziraphale had dropped a medkit in the rush to leave their last camp, and these days they needed any bandage they could get. Traveling far meant traveling over empty, wide stretches of land with no convenience store or homes to loot for days. These were the last few spots of civilization (or what was left of it, ha) before they moved on towards Tadfield.

“Angel, do y’think that we’re going the right way? Not doubting my expert navigational skills over here, but there’s only so much I can remember.” Turning, Crowley watched as Aziraphale looked up from his battered copy of “The Canterville Ghost.” They could only carry so much, limiting Aziraphale to one book at any point in time. Right now he was reading through “The Canterville Ghost” for the upteenth time, stolen from a homely ranch house a week or so back. Aziraphale gave a small thoughtful hum, managing to escape possible tripping hazards as he looked down at his book. “I believe it might be around the next turn.”

“Alright hellions.” Crowley clasped his hands together, rubbing them against each other as he addressed the preteens ahead. “We’re coming right back up on broken-in-store number three of today, moment we get there we scope out the place around. Don’t go into the woods.”

Brian grinned and crossed his arms. “This time I’m really getting that keychain with my name on it.” Crowley hummed to himself in thought.

“Was that this one? Thought your prized “Brian” license plate was at the green store.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “They’re all painted green. Don’t know why, it’s the worst color.”

“Thought you said pink was the worst color,” Adam retorted with a mischievous smile as he adjusted the strap of his bag.

“And I stand by it.”

Crowley just shook his head and crossed his arms against the chill. “Just make sure it doesn’t make any noise.”

Brian nodded and grinned, excited as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, walking a little faster to catch up to the rest of The Them.

Crowley’s grin faded into a more playful smirk as he fell behind to walk right beside Aziraphale. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t stop thinking about that cottage with all those weird naked baby figures.” Aziraphale didn’t look up this time, quiet except for a page turn, the thwip of the weather battered pages against each other joining the sound of the leaf crunching and excited storytelling up ahead. He gave a small shake of his head. “Crowley, those were cherubs. Not some...random naked children. They’re tasteful.”

Crowley grinned wider with a shake of his head. “Should’ve guessed you were an advocate for the whole grandma aesthetic,” he grinned, leering over Aziraphale for just a moment. Aziraphale just rolled his eyes with a huff before retorting with a small frown, “It has nothing to do with age, you know.” Crowley gave a loose shrug. “Whatever you say, grandma.” The book-engrossed man just shook his head with a small, upwards quirk of his lips.

Crowley paused in his teasing as he took in the dark circles under Aziraphale’s eyes. “You alright, Aziraphale?” He moved to walk in front of him, intently studying his face. “Looking a little more worse for wear than yesterday.” “I’m alright, dear boy. I suppose I’m just tired. I have been looking forward to stopping and resting in an actual building instead of finding shelter in giant haystacks, of all things. And before you say anything, _yes_ \- it was a good idea.” He gives a bemused huff as he looks up from his book to the expected incredulous expression on Crowley’s face, cutting his prepared objection off. “I just miss sitting in chairs, if anything.”

Crowley, with a grin, nudged Aziraphale softly with his elbow. “Hate to burst your sitting dreams, angel, but I’m pretty sure there are no chairs at this place. You’ll have to sit on the perfectly respectable floor like the rest of us.” Aziraphale peers over his reading glasses, giving Crowley images of old junior high teachers looking at him with tired displeasure. “If dusty tile floors are your equivalent of a chair, I’d hate to know what you see as a nice bed.” Crowley grinned wide and spread his arms out, gesturing with all his sharp angles at the ground around them. “Most comfortable soil I’ve ever seen!”

Aziraphale just gave another huff and a small, quick smile before looking back to his book. “Crowley, you are ridiculous.” Crowley’s heart swelled at the sound of Aziraphale’s fond exasperation.

As they neared the commissary, Crowley rushed ahead so he could open the door for the kids and Aziraphale, giving a small, teasing bow to the reading man as he passed. Upon entering the store himself, he took in the view of a slightly dilapidated, mostly empty place. Taking in a deep breath of what once would have been cold, air conditioned air, he placed his hands on his hips before addressing everyone. “Alright, you lot. Not much here, but get comfy, we’re sleeping here tonight.”

A chorus of affirmatives went up as The Them went to re-acquaint themselves with the store. Aziraphale, still absorbed in what must have been a riveting passage, floated through the small aisles in a distracted daze. Crowley pressed himself against the cracked plaster of an empty wall and placed his pack on the floor, the clatter of his infamous crowbar against the white tile muffled by the canvas of the bag. He settled against the wall the best that he could, _cold tile floors indeed_ , and leaned back to watch the activity in the store.

Wensleydale was double checking the area around the till for anything they could have possibly missed since the last time they were here, pushing his smudged glasses back up his nose as he leaned down to inspect the area under the counter. Brian was excitedly pushing through the rotating stands of random license plates. Crowley thought he saw a “Daddy’s slut” in there, and grinned at the thought of taking that one for himself. Pepper and Adam were shedding jackets to lay on top of, creating a small nest for themselves in one corner of the store, and Aziraphale, no doubt crestfallen at the lack of chairs, just sat on the floor against a wall to continue to read.

Looking through the numerous peeling flyers and colorful graffiti covering the storefront windows, Crowley watched as it grew steadily darker outside, feeling impossibly more tired as his body was finally given a chance to relax. He stood up, joints popping in a long limbed stretch before making his way over to the license plate stand in curiosity. He grinned giddily upon seeing a glittery pink “Angel” one, quickly taking it off the stand, and slunk over to where Aziraphale sat. He slid down against the wall, offering the keychain to Aziraphale with a pleased grin.

“For your trouble, angel.” Aziraphale finally shut his book and put it aside before looking to the cheaply made keychain. “Really, for me? You shouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, still unable to hold back a grin as he took the keychain from Crowley. “You’re impossible.” Crowley beamed at that and flopped into a more comfortable position against the wall. “That’s me, impossible,” Crowley said, pulling his stiff leather jacket tighter around him. He paused to look back up at the giggling kids across the store before turning back towards Aziraphale, waiting for a bastard-y retort. At Aziraphale’s silence he gently prodded, “Angel?” Aziraphale was staring down at the floor, worrying the glitter off of the keychain in deep thought.

“I have been...thinking.” Crowley shifted forward to angle himself to face Aziraphale, all teasing gone in the face of Aziraphale’s sudden seriousness. He felt his heart speed up in unease as he thought back to the last time Aziraphale was this stoic when they were alone. It must have been almost three weeks ago, but Crowley was still surprised at the abruptness of Aziraphale’s silence, and the sudden following snatches of details from Aziraphale’s Before.

Aziraphale sighed deeply before continuing. “I wanted to ask you- that is if you’re willing to entertain me on this matter, I understand if you’d rather not, but- ” “Angel. What is it?” Aziraphale sighed, looking away from Crowley to the dark sky past the flyer crowded windows. “I just wanted to know if- Before - if you were ever-“

Before he could go on, someone shouted across the store in fear and shock. “GUYS!” _Shit, fuck. Fucking shit. Brian._

Crowley sprung up to his bag, rummaging through it as fast as possible, clutching his cold crowbar tight in his hand as he weaved past the aisles to where the sound came from. Adam and Pepper worked quickly to arm themselves, stumbling up from sitting on their jackets, but Crowley was faster. He slammed the slightly ajar door of the back room open to see a zombie ambling towards Brian, who had left his bloodied baseball bat to the side. Dressed in a dirt covered shirt and beat up jeans, the zombie was likely once a resident of the rural area.

Crowley pushed Brian somewhere behind him and swung back with the crowbar, whacking it as hard as he could against the side of the zombie’s head with a wet crack. The zombie swayed to the side and bumped into the metal racks lining the wall, his body following the path of his now slightly dented head. Breathing hard with the effort of the swing, Crowley righted his stance and prepared to hit the zombie again when he heard Aziraphale huff out a breath from behind him. “Let me.” Crowley gladly stumbled back, letting Aziraphale squeeze past him and watched as he drove his incredibly nerdy, incredibly efficient sword into the face of the zombie, sending it and the surrounding boxes to the floor with a grunt of effort.

Once the zombie was down, Aziraphale began to drag the corpse across the store to place it outside. Blood so old and brown it was almost black smeared across the floor, matting with the wiry hair of the zombie as Aziraphale unceremoniously dragged it outside and deposited it a few yards away from the store’s entrance.

Crowley sagged in relief and exhaustion as he watched Aziraphale haul the zombie outside. He hurried over to Brian, putting his hands on his shoulders as he frantically looked him up and down for injuries. “You ok, Beanpole? Tall, gross, and deceased didn’t hurt you, did he?” Brian just shook his head, knowing very well after much trial and error that trying to get Crowley to stop worrying was like trying to get a cat to stop pushing things off of shelves: impossible.

“No, m’ok, Crowley. Thanks.”

While Crowley’s heart was still beating fast and hard, the rest of The Them seemed to have very different thoughts on the whole surprise-zombie matter.

“That. Was. WICKED.” Adam pulled away from the slightly ajar door, having watched Aziraphale drag the dead zombie (oxymoron) away from the building.

Crowley just gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, t’was a close one. We’ll be more careful next time, look around more before settling. Even if we know the place.” There was a long creak as Aziraphale opened the door to let himself back in, dabbing a bit of sweat off of his forehead with the back of his arm. “Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. In the meantime, I suggest we all get some rest.”

Crowley nodded at Aziraphale, ruffling Brian’s hair before pushing him gently towards the rest of The Them. “Get some shut eye, you four. Night.” His kids went back to relaxing, setting up old bedrolls to share. Crowley gave a bone deep sigh as he stretched, feeling his age more than ever. 36 wasn’t necessarily old, but from a youth of sitting hunched over, his back wasn't getting any better.

He watched from across the store as Aziraphale adjusted his reading glasses, going straight back to reading like he hadn’t just killed a bloodthirsty, cannibalistic monster. He looked so soft, his usually curly hair flattened by the cold wind outside, pausing his reading to adjust his heavy Sherpa coat. Crowley had a deep, instinctive urge to bury his face in Aziraphale’s neck, to hide in his arms and be squeezed and held and kept. To be forced to be still, long enough for his exhaustion to finally catch up to him enough to have him fall asleep, safe and content in his warm arms.

Crowley often fantasized about Aziraphale’s arms and strength. Enough to where it was no longer a surprise each time he had a thought of the not-safe-for-work variety about the Doctor, but still pleasantly mortified each time. He wanted strange, unreasonable things when he thought about Aziraphale. He wanted to be kissed senseless against a hard surface, wanted to be held down by those thick thighs, wanted to become a snake and slither under his soft cashmere jumper against all that intoxicating body heat. _Embarrassing_.

But that was all he had. Just his overactive imagination and The Incident to keep him sated. Crowley would never let himself forget The Incident, how Aziraphale’s back was pressed tight against his chest as he backed the two of them into a wall, away from the approaching zombies. Crowley’s heart had hammered so hard in his chest he had to wonder if Aziraphale had felt it through his layers. Aziraphale growled in frustration, sexy, sexy frustration as the zombies came closer to the two of them. Crowley remembered furiously berating himself for getting so hopelessly distracted at literally the worst possible time.

Aziraphale had swung his sword back and forth, hoping to hit something to help The Them, who were no doubt struggling not so far away. Eventually, he had taken down the zombies with Crowley’s help, but the feeling of Aziraphale’s strained back muscles against his chest wouldn’t leave Crowley’s memory anytime soon.

So, for now, he just watched as Aziraphale settled against the floor, likely done with the chapter. Crowley sighed again and went back to his corner, tugging his uncomfortable bag under his head as a makeshift pillow. He shivered against the cold tile floor, flexing his feet in his hiking boots, unwilling to take his shoes off. He had learned the hard way why you shouldn’t take your shoes off long ago, when this whole thing first started. He still missed those boots. An hour or so later, he watched as the last flashlights were turned off as The Them went to sleep.

Crowley rolled over onto his back, resigned to another sleepless night when he heard it. Just the softest bang against the side of the building. Could’ve been a tree branch in the wind, could’ve been anything, but Crowley knew better. He stiffened on the floor and pushed himself up, careful not to drag his crowbar against the ground as he picked it up, standing with a grunt.

He didn’t want to wake Aziraphale up, not yet, so he just slowly made his way to the door and peaked out, shivering against the cold air that exploded against his face. He walked carefully along the side of the building, keeping a hand against the crumbling plaster so he wouldn’t get lost in the coming dark. When he saw a dark figure ambling slowly towards him, a strange cracking sound punctuating every step, he slapped a hand over his mouth so as to not make any more sound than he already had opening the creaking door. Crowley ran back the way he came, feet crunching in the dead leaves, his hand burning as it slid angrily across the rough side of the building.

He slammed the door behind him, pressing himself against it as he called out to the shop, his voice a strained stage whisper. “Aziraphale!-... _Aziraphale!_... _HELLIONS!_...” He watched panickedly as Aziraphale shifted on the ground, giving a low groan before sitting up completely, his hair mused and eyes bleary.“Crowley?...”

“Aziraphale there’s a zombie out there. _Close_. And I bet there’s more too. _C’mon_.” Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes before blindly reaching for his sword, always close by his side. Crowley stayed at the door, unwilling to let any more zombies in the building. He watched as Aziraphale went to rouse The Them, pressing nearby bloodstained weapons into tired hands. Crowley hissed out a warning when he heard a succession of bangs. “C’mon, _c’mon_!”

His heart beat fast, knowing that at any moment, if they didn’t hurry, there would be hungry hands tearing at the flyers to expose and break the glass of the small convenience store. Pepper dug through her bag fast for her knives as Adam and Brian stumbled from the bed rolls to prepare themselves to fight the undead, taking their bats from Aziraphale’s hands. Wensleydale was no fighter, but held a knife close all the same. Aziraphale hurried to the door, nodding to himself once he too heard the sounds of bodies against the side of the building. He looked to ensure The Them was ready with their weapons before nodding to Crowley to open the door so they could all face the zombies. Crowley gave a shaky sigh before pushing the door open against the cold. He held the door open, letting the stagnant warmth of the store bleed out as the group carefully made their way deeper into the forest to the left of the store.

Finally when the group was deep enough in the forest, the large number of zombies was finally made clear. Crowley hissed under his breath as it became evident that tonight was going to be much bloodier than he thought it would. Groaning, Crowley dragged a weary hand down his tired face before turning to see the dark outline of Aziraphale, primed to fight, sleepiness forgotten back in the store. Sighing at the sight in both relief and appreciation, Crowley rolled his shoulders and neck before asking out loud, “Is ah- is Wensleydale inside?” Adam, holding his bat complete with rusted nails sticking every which way at the very tip, nodded in Crowley’s direction. “Yeah, yeah he’s inside.” Crowley nodded back. “Alright, hellions. You know the rules, stay back as much as possible.” Pepper, as expected, groaned. “Yeah, fine.”

Crowley gave a grin at the familiarity before starting his stalk towards the nearest zombie, Aziraphale already a few feet ahead of him. He rushed a little to catch up, not wanting all the zombies to target Aziraphale at once. When he got close enough, Crowley swung back and slammed his crowbar down on the top of one of the zombie’s heads, using his height to compensate for his rather noodly-arms.

Aziraphale, for his part, was alarmingly strong. His bookish and sweet exterior gave the impression of a soft, battle abstaining individual, but he held an incredible strength under his padding. Extremely useful against zombies, and, if Crowley was being honest, extremely hot. Upon nearing the zombies, Aziraphale pulled back far before slicing into the zombie’s neck with his sword, the blade still covered in old coagulated blood. The impact made a “thwack!” sending the zombie to hit the ground sideways. Aziraphale ruthlessly tugged the sword from the corded, broken neck of the zombie with a grunt of effort and worked to drive it through the side of its head to finally destroy the brain.

Crowley snarled in frustration as another zombie got too close as he tried to crack the skull of another. “HELLION! One of you! Whoever!” Adam gladly stepped to parr and slammed his bat into the ribcage of the nearing zombie, hearing a satisfying crunch as swivels of vertebrae ground against each other. After finally turning his zombie’s brain to a pulp, Crowley turned sideways with sudden vigilant stillness as he strained to hear the sound of rustling foliage nearby. He jerked his head towards Pepper, a silent question for her to confirm the zombies death before he readied himself behind a large tree capable of hiding his tall figure, fully prepared to launch himself at any oncoming zombie.

What he didn’t expect was the sudden hand that grasped at his ankle with the force of a drowning man grabbing to a rock, dragging Crowley down to the wet dirt and decomposing leaves of the forest floor. Crowley let out a shriek of surprise, immediately curling over himself to work the bony hand, its flesh just barely clinging to tensed tendons and muscles, off of his thin ankle. What he didn’t notice was the sound of more shuffling feet coming his way through the woods. Brian ran to Crowley, working to pull him away from the zombie laying on the ground, its torso leaking wet intestines and acidic bile that had darkened the grass around it.

Pepper gasped at Crowley’s shriek and pulled back from the still twitching zombie to go into the forest as well, aiming her knife for the side of one of the nearing zombies. Brian managed to help Crowley move away from the zombie, still gripping his ankle, by twisting the wrist of the snarling, teeth gnashing zombie until it broke. The moment he was able to stand, Crowley flailed in Pepper’s general direction, stumbling to his feet to move to help her before he tripped over himself and landed hard chest down on the ground, knocking the breath out of him. He wheezed and blindly grasped for his crow bar. “Brian - ghrk- ah, check Aziraphale.”

Brian, clearly unwilling to leave Crowley, turned reluctantly to join Aziraphale, who was almost finished with the last of the closest zombies. Crowley shoved himself upwards, his limbs as organized as they could possibly be, which wasn’t very orderly even on a good day.

“Fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck, back _AWAY_ , Pepper!” Panicked, he watched yet another zombie, looking much like a bloated snowman, stumbled towards Pepper. The zombie had clearly been lying prone on the forest floor for ages, covered in white mold, its legs almost completely nonfunctional. As Pepper tried to work her dagger out of the side of the zombie before her, Crowley threw himself at the too close, molding zombie, knocking them both down to the ground with a wet squelch of still blood. He pulled back with his crowbar to tear at the zombie’s tumefied face and head with as much force as possible, grunting with effort.

Aziraphale, Brian, and Adam all rushed to join Pepper and Crowley deeper in the forest. Aziraphale, upon seeing Crowley struggling not so far away on the ground, gasped. “Boys, do help Pepper, please.” Breathless, he ran towards Crowley, his dirtied whitish curls swaying. Adam encouraged Pepper to back away as he swung his bat with all his might at the zombie’s legs, being unable to fully reach its head. One of its legs gave way against the force of the bat, the rusted nails catching in the strained muscle, forcing the zombie into an uneven stance. At his new vantage point, Brian swung at the zombie’s head, able to send it to the ground.

Aziraphale sidestepped around Crowley, watching as he struck the zombie’s head over and over again with the crowbar, clearly tiring himself out, his face covered in stray droplets of old blood and rancid saliva. Aziraphale pulled back on Crowley’s shoulders, trying to drag him off the zombie. Crowley got the hint and clambered off, his chest heaving with breath as Aziraphale finished the zombie off with a well aimed downwards stab of his sword. Upon getting off of the zombie Crowley realized how much deeper in the forest he had gone as he tackled the zombie to the ground, making him even more anxious, if that was even possible.

He gestured at Aziraphale over to where Brian worked to take down the zombie that was now holding onto Adam’s leg with twisting strength, pulling it close to his rotted mouth, tongue swiping in every uncoordinated direction. Adam struggled away, dragging the zombie towards him as he tried to pull his leg free. The zombie’s face slammed into the ground as he continued to hold on. Aziraphale nodded resolutely and hurried over. Crowley turned to further survey the woods, looking and listening for any other nearby zombies.

While it could have been a gust of wind, Crowley was taking no chances when he heard another small rustle. He went deeper still, relaxing only slightly when he heard sounds of triumph from his kids as Aziraphale finished off the last of the zombies. Crowley liked to think of himself as very well prepared. Some would argue that being chronically anxious did not constitute the word “prepared” so much as the word “scared of everything.” Crowley would then go on to argue that “scared of everything” was not in fact, one word, which was correct. But in a world of zombies, people couldn’t have cared less for any smart-assery, and his observation would have probably been met with a gratuitous punch to the face. So, no, he probably wasn’t prepared for everything, but it was only when the sudden sound of a metal “shk!” and the noise of metal clamping startled him that he realized just how unprepared he was.

Most people, you see, in a zombie apocalypse, don’t prepare themselves to fight against bear traps, but Crowley was learning that anything was possible. When the cold metal jaws of a bear trap snapped around his ankle, Crowley was immediately taken to the ground, clutching at his arms in pain. He took a deep inhale of breath before clamping his teeth down into the thick leather of his jacket in a bid to keep as quiet as possible as he yelped in pain.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale was pushing past branches to find him, and the sound of his prim, concerned voice cut through the fog of Crowley’s pain unlike anything else. He choked on his tears as he let out a pitiful whimper, burying his face in his dirt and blood covered jacket, managing to squeak out a small, “Here.”

“Oh- _oh, Crowley._ ” Aziraphale gasped to himself, covering his remorseful grimace with a soft hand. He called back to The Them, “Boys, Pepper, he’s over here, it’s alright.”

He bent down to examine the trap’s serrated teeth digging deep into the sides of Crowley’s pale, thin ankle. He gave a small grunt under his breath as he compressed the springs on either side of the trap, his hands shaking with the effort of holding them open. “Could one of you come quickly and assist me?,” Aziraphale asked, to no one in particular. Adam hissed under his breath when he saw Crowley’s ankle, hurrying to kneel beside Aziraphale and gingerly take Crowley’s foot out of the trap and place it to the side.

Crowley let out a low groan of pain before pulling himself to sit up, waving off Brian and Pepper’s attempts to help him up. “No no-” He gasped, trying to work air back into his lungs. “Head-... go head back. Aziraphale will help me. Go.” At a loss, they turned to Aziraphale who nodded quietly. “Go back inside and stay close, it’s too dark to be wandering anywhere else.” The Them nodded and whispered “yeses” as they shuffled away towards the store, careful to not get too close to the battered corpses around them. Aziraphale clicked his tongue as he watched Crowley struggle to push himself up. “Please, let me, dear.”

Crowley groaned in pain and objection as Aziraphale slowly pulled him into his arms. At literally any other point in time, Crowley would have been mentally high fiving himself, or more accurately panicking and hoping his breath didn’t smell too bad if he were picked up by Aziraphale, but he could only shake his head uselessly in protest.

Aziraphale grunted as he shifted Crowley to a more comfortable position in his arms, encouraging him to wrap a bony arm around his own soft neck for support. Crowley held on as tight as he could, working to keep his mind off of the insane pain of his foot and the wish-coming-true part of being held by Aziraphale. Aziraphale gently rested Crowley on the floor of the small room, taking care not to lay him down on the blood staining the ground before he took off his heavy coat to stuff under Crowley’s head.

He tsked again as he examined Crowley’s foot, pausing to close the door just slightly for some privacy. Wensleydale, clearly worried and scared from seeing Crowley in such pain, opened the door to pass Aziraphale a med kit and a flashlight. Aziraphale sighed as he took the small box and clicked on the flashlight, setting both to the side before giving a tired grin to Wensleydale. “Thank you, dear boy. Do try to get some rest.” Wensleydale gave a small nod and closed the door completely behind him.

When Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, his tears were unmistakable, his leather clad arm thrown over his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at him. Aziraphale sighed and absentmindedly rubbed small circles into the back of Crowley’s knee as he examined the bloodied ankle. “I believe your foot might be broken, my dear.” The endearments came all too easy when Crowley was in such a vulnerable state, falling from his lips without a second thought.

Crowley groaned again. “Just get it over with.” He sniffed, unwillingly, and let out a quiet whoosh of breath as Aziraphale started cleaning the neat cuts from the teeth in the sides of his ankle. The only light in the room was from the flashlight, the soft orange glow pointed up to rest on the ceiling, illuminating Aziraphale’s soft features with a quiet warmth.

The only sounds in the room were harsh intakes of breaths followed by long exhales on Crowley’s part, with sympathetic, small sounds from Aziraphale whenever he had to tend to a particularly nasty cut. “Your ankle might just be badly sprained. I’m not quite sure,” Aziraphale commented quietly, trying to match the still feeling of the room. “We’ll see tomorrow how much it hurts to walk on.” He wrapped a clean cloth around the entirety of Crowley’s ankle, being as gentle as possible so as to not hurt him further. When the wrap was complete, he paused before saying in a softer tone of voice, “I’ve done the best I can, now it’s just rest.” He moved to sit back, his legs tucked under him before starting to stand up. Just as he was about to completely get up, Crowley’s hand shot out and grabbed onto the cottony texture of his pants.

He pulled his arm slowly away from his face, revealing red rimmed, tearful eyes that really just broke Aziraphale’s heart. It was a cold day in hell when Crowley cried in front of him willingly, and these tears were clearly not just for the pain in his ankle. “Please-” Crowley started, his voice hoarse. “Don’t go.” His tone of voice squeezed Aziraphale’s heart even tighter, compelling him to sit down beside Crowley in the cramped room.

Crowley couldn’t stand to be alone. Not now. He was crying for all the things he bottled up. For watching his kids get hurt, for the suffocating unfairness of the world they had to live in, for being just too many paces ahead of Aziraphale, always told “this close, but not a step further”- it was simply too much for him right now.

It wasn’t hard for Crowley to cry. Aziraphale would say that he had a soft touch, but Crowley would argue that there were just too many good reasons to cry. The last time he did, it was when Pepper had hurt herself tripping over rusted playground equipment in a rush to get away from approaching zombies. Pepper sobbed from the pain, her tears especially rare in the group, and it overwhelmed him.

But these tears were different. He knew that if one were to look at them under a microscope, they would look different than the ones he cried for Pepper. These weren’t for anyone but him.

Aziraphale sat uselessly as he watched Crowley work to keep his obvious tears at bay. Not standing to be inept in the face of Crowley’s grief, he just silently, carefully pulled him to rest his head and upper body in his lap, taking his own coat to drape it over Crowley’s crumpled body. At the small gesture, Crowley’s breath hitched before letting out a small sob. He turned to bury his face into the side of Aziraphale’s soft thigh, unwillingly to look at Aziraphale for even a moment, lest he break down entirely, which was entirely in the realm of possibility at that moment.

Aziraphale just sighed again, unable to stop himself from pushing strands of Crowley’s dirty red hair from his face. Eventually, Crowley’s deep, shuddering breaths slowed as Aziraphale continued his tender petting, pulling all of Crowley’s hair to the side before running his hands through the silky strands, rubbing circles into the tense flesh of his long neck.

Aziraphale felt as if he shouldn’t be taking advantage of Crowley in his pained state to fulfill his own selfish desires to hold and caress him, even if for a minute. To pretend that this infuriating, gangly, sharp man was his. But to imagine himself with Crowley was to think of himself as deserving of him, which he knew wasn’t true.

Aziraphale knew The Them wanted Crowley and himself together. He’d seen it in the way they giggled amongst themselves whenever Crowley took a moment to talk to Aziraphale alone. He wanted it more than they did. But, regardless of his existence as a reader, he refused to let himself dream. He was a realist, and he took it upon himself to realize for the two of them that a relationship wouldn’t possibly work out. In this world, it didn’t do to get attached to others. If there ever came a time where they had to separate for survival, he knew that it would be infinitely harder to do so if they were together. Crowley deserved to live, to experience the world in its wonder rather than be trapped with a person too selfish to let him go if the time ever came. He refused to put himself in that position of choice, not again.

And so he resolved not to even imagine it.

He paused his careful ministrations when Crowley shifted onto his side to become more comfortable in Aziraphale’s lap, drawing a gentle smile from him as he waited for Crowley to settle before continuing to stroke his hair. It wasn’t long before Crowley’s breathing mellowed out and his features softened in the wake of sleep.

Aziraphale knew that tomorrow he would have to face the embarrassment of waking up with his fingers tangled in Crowley’s curling locks, with a crick in his neck from refusing to move in fear of jostling the man in his lap. But that didn’t matter. Not when Crowley was breathing soft and deep, his head a sweet weight in his lap. He rubbed an indulgent thumb across the line of Crowley’s cheekbone as he leaned back against the uncomfortable wall to settle in for sleep. One could only wonder what there was to live for during the apocalypse, but Aziraphale thanked God that he had found his reason, safe in his lap.


End file.
